


Ever After

by PairOPagans



Category: Into the Woods - Sondheim/Lapine
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PairOPagans/pseuds/PairOPagans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone deserves their happily ever after, even the Witches in the Woods. Years after the events of the play, the Witch has moved on, sailing across the ocean and settling in America. She leads a normal life, runs a "New Age" shop, and enjoys her peaceful life alone. That is, until she discovers a dirty, homeless child hiding in her garden and takes her in. Kenzie, as the child calls herself, might just be the Witch's one chance at a happily-ever-after. That is, if they can ever get her powers under control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Seven hundred years was a long time.

She had seen families grow up, old, and apart. She’d had her own family torn apart. She had seen countries rise and fall. When it was time, she had left her native France, left her garden and the memories of her mother, to journey to the “New World” she had heard so many rumors about. There, she’d watched colonies grow, come together to form a nation. She had watched as people who were there long before she and hers had arrived were run out of their homes. She had walked with the leaders of the Natives and aided them in burying their dead. When all the Natives were gone, she had moved once again, this time to a city that was just starting.

As the years passed, she and her home never changed. Though cabins turned to apartments and apartments into skyscrapers, her little cottage had not budged. Oh, she had changed its outer appearance to blend in with the bustling city, but the inside was still as snug and warm as the house she grew up in.

In seven hundred years, she had seen it all. In seven hundred years, she had started to reconnect with nature. Her abilities had starting to return to her right around the turn of the sixteenth century, about three hundred years after the events of the Baker and his kingdom, and since then they had grown strong. All it had taken was some time away from the cursed land and a moment with a people who knew Nature and all her power just as well as she did.

Modern-day New York was much more welcoming to her kind than any other time period was. Here, she could pass herself off as a seller of trinkets, of nifty knick-knacks. At first, she had been a teacher in a middle school; a drama teacher. But one could only spend so many years in one environment before people started to notice that she was not aging. So she went back to her cottage home in New York and started a magic shop. She sold herbs and potions; knick knacks and jewelry. She had everything from “pretties” to items she had actually bothered to place a spell on.

People here seemed to like the “New Age,” or whatever they were calling it nowadays. They wanted to believe in magic, even though it seemed to be forbidden by most of their religions. They wanted a little taste of the power that nature could hold without abandoning the only chance to eternal life they would ever get. It would have been funny, if she had not sensed true magic lurking in a handful of those who came and left. Such talent was as wasted now as it had been back in the Old World, in old times. It was a shame, truly, but the Witch wasn’t about to try to convert anyone. Not just because magic was something you had to find yourself, but also because then they would be her responsibility.

She had more than enough responsibility nowadays to bother with trying to teach some ungrateful child how to tune into their abilities. She had a magic shop to run, a garden to tend to, and a constant glamour spell to keep up. There was no room for humans, aside from the money that they put in her pocket. Not that she needed the spare change. The Witch had no bills to pay, as the land was long since paid off, and there was a bank account in her name that had been building up interest since the early eighteenth century. The shop was just there to keep her busy and keep her magic in tune.

The clock struck six PM on one July 16th, and with a snap of her fingers, the Witch locked the front door. The sign flipped from open to close. The blinds all rolled down, to hide the trinkets from the outside world. The candles flickered out, leaving their smoke and scent of vanilla and green apples to waft around the room. After checking through the cash register, noting with a smile that she had earned a few hundred dollars, the Witch took what money she had earned and headed into the back of the shop.

There, the walls changed from plaster painted a gentle blue to walls of logs. The floor beneath her feet was no longer the fake tile that so many shop owners preferred, but boards of wood sanded not by machine, but by the constant clicking of heels up and down the hallway. She had tried to keep the cottage as much like a cottage as she possibly could, although the Witch would not deny that the additions of electricity and other useful appliances had certainly been wise.

She placed the money in the nightstand beside her bed then drifted into the kitchen. She needed some tea; tea and, perhaps, a moment or two to work into the garden. While most would have considered such a task a horrid chore, working in the garden, among her plants, was what calmed the Witch the most. Every witch had something they were connected to, something they were able to do better than anything else. Some could see the future, like her mother, while others were good with magical creatures. For the Witch, her specialty rested with plants and the qualities they possessed. Nature had always been more of a mother to her than her real mother had, she supposed.

She decided on lavender tea. The scent alone was something she needed, but lavender also had properties that would calm her muscles, get her to relax. That was always nice after a long day of working with humans, especially when they all seemed to ask the exact same questions. Was it her fault their knowledge of magic was limited? No? Then why was she the one who had to suffer through it?

She decided to roam her garden while she had her tea, just to look through and see what needed to be done. She knew she would have to weed the flowerbeds. That had to be done at least once a week. The peppers would probably need picking. There might be a few apples she could take, make a sweet pie from them. It had been a while since she’d had something sweet to eat. That would be a treat to herself for getting through this long week. Perhaps, if she was lucky, there would be a handful of peaches ready. They were always nice to sell in her shop. Not to mention how long it had been since she’d had a good peach tea.

Her eyes roamed over the flowerbeds, and she noted with satisfaction that she had been right. They would need weeding. The next thing she looked at was the trees. Yes, both the apple and peach trees had a couple fruits she could pick. The oranges looked ready, too. Her lips curved into a smile; her garden was displaying its love for her now, just as she had poured her love into it all these years. She moved over to the bushes and noted, with a frown, that the blackberries were not ready.

That was odd. The blackberries usually had a fresh batch ready for her every two weeks or so. The blooms were often plentiful. With one hand, the Witch lifted a branch, glanced it over. Upon seeing a smear of purple juice, she dropped it, as if it had burned her. The tea sloshed in her cup, nearly spilling.

Someone had already picked the berries. Not only picked, if the juice smeared on the wood was any indication, but also devoured. Her lips twitched. It was the Baker’s father all over again. Someone had snuck into her garden and…

There was a whisper through the trees, a hint from the plants she loved so dear. The Witch snapped her fingers, the teacup disappearing from her grip, and lifted up her dress to follow the tip. She moved from the blackberries to the blueberries. Glancing down, she noted how the dirt around the base of the bush was smooth, compacted, as though someone had crawled on their belly to get the plants. She bristled in anger, the tips of her hair lifting slightly. She could hear all her precious plants whispering, telling on the newcomer.

But before she could find the trespasser and confront him or her, the bush rustled. The sound of light breathing reached her ears, and then a soft grunt. She saw a flash of golden hair, and then a quiet voice spoke up, from beneath the leaves and branches.

“Momma?”


	2. Chapter 2

People had said she was a witch.

People talked; that is what people do. People talk, and others listen. So when the rumors about the witch of 5th Avenue reached the ears of a small child, she had no choice but to stop and listen. They said she was short; not physically, but in her mannerisms. She was quick, brash, but she knew everything you could ever need to know about magic. She had herbs and teas and jewelry. She had a small garden in the back of her home where she picked her the greens needed for her recipes. Everything from fruits to vegetables to herbs was back there.

That was what caught her attention, actually. Kenzie had been sitting on a park bench, nibbling on a package of roasted almonds a kind man had bought her, when two joggers brought her the news. They did not speak to her directly, of course. They merely came up and sat on the bench next to her for a quick rest. As one checked her shoes and sipped from a metal water bottle, the other talked about the tea she had gotten from the witch. It was supposed to flush out all the impurities, she bragged. She knew it was real, too, because the witch had taken her to the back and shown her a small section of her garden, had let her watch as she picked the herbs and leaves necessary for the tea.

The two left not long after, but Kenzie had already gotten what she needed. The girl of seven knew New York like the back of her hand; she had lived in its streets for well over a year now. She knew where 5th Street was, and she knew the building the women had spoken off. Many times she had considered sneaking in and seeing if the rumors were true for herself, but she had always stopped herself. No rumor was worth getting caught, especially if it turned out false. But now, she thought as she shoved the rest of the almonds into her pocket, she had proof, and proof was all she needed to get her next meal.

Glazed almonds were tasty, but not very filling. The same went for the other treats the tourists and kind couples of New York bought her. Often times, if she was caught staring at the food, she would find a small package of it pressed into her hands. More often than not, it was candy of some sort, or a sweet from a bakery. It was a treat that left her filled, but did not satisfy the needs of a growing child for long. Fruits, however, could do that. Nuts could. Greens would keep her belly full, especially if she managed to get a good haul. They would not be as filling as, say, a meat of some sort, but they would be considerably better that sugar.

She traveled through Central Park with ease, then into the subway. She could slip through the bars without any trouble and, therefore, did not have to buy a token or a ticket. After a few stops, she came out near her target street and proceeded to walk the rest of the way there. Occasionally, while waiting for the light to change, Kenzie could filter through her sack to make sure there was enough room for what she needed. She tossed out candy wrappers and pieces of paper, but kept the stuffed duck that was zipped inside one of the pockets. She stroked its soft fur as she approached the wooden fence that surrounded the lot.

The fence seemed out of place, especially in the middle of New York, but no one seemed to notice. They also did not notice the tiny girl slipping between the fence and the next door apartment complex, to the back of the lot. Once she was hidden from man and camera, Kenzie knelt at the edge of the fence. She fiddled with one of the boards, then another. Her nose wrinkled in confusion. She could feel dirt on her hands. She could smell it. And yet all she could see was wood and concrete.

Tentatively, the girl placed one hand against the bottom of a board. Wincing, readying herself for pain, she dug her nails into the concrete and pulled back. But instead of losing a nail or scraping the tip of her finger, Kenzie was surprised when a handful of dirt appeared. As she moved it, she saw that there was dirt all around her. Her lips curved into a toothy grin. Soon, she was digging, throwing the dirt behind her. Mud soaked the knees of her skirt, burrowed underneath her nails, but she paid it no heed. She could smell something now; she could smell the sweetness of fruit, the tang of peppermint. Three minutes later, she had enough dirt moved that she could wriggle under.

It took another five minute of wriggling, struggling and clawing, but eventually the girl managed to slip under the fence. As she stood, brushing the mud from the front of her shirt, she took a moment to look around the garden.

The sight was beautiful enough to make her gasp.

The garden was huge, much too big for such a small lot. There were fruits, vegetables, greens, flowers, herbs – anything and everything you could ever want in a garden was right here, right in front of her. For a moment, Kenzie could only stare. She inhaled the scents of the fruit and the flowers. The mix of sweet and tart nearly made her toes curl in pleasure. It had been far too long since she had seen this sort of beauty. Central Park was a lovely place, especially from her home up in the trees, but this… this was much more than a city-tamed forest. This was paradise. This was all she could ever need.

But when Kenzie’s eyes finally found the fruit, and all thoughts of beauty and perfection disappeared, leaving only the gnawing hunger in her belly. She scrambled through the garden to what would be her next meal. With bare feet and hands, Kenzie climbed up the first tree. Apples, green and tart. Two went into her bag. She added three sweet red ones from its neighbor. The next were oranges. Three. And then four bananas. Three peaches – well, two, after she gave into temptation and devoured one. A single pear. Three nectarines. Once her bag was heavy, she moved onto the bushes. These would be what she would devour now, to fill her stomach before she made her way back home.

The blackberry bush was her first target. She snagged a handful of blackberries and crammed them into her mouth. The sweet tang of its juices had her toes curling again. Purple stained her lips, her fingers, but she merely swiped it on a branch before she reached for another handful. The berries did more than just fill her belly; they eased her thirst as well, and that was enough to have her going back for a third handful.

By this point, the sun was high, and she was tired. Deciding not to leave her private Eden, at least not yet, Kenzie shrugged off her bag and clambered to hide under a blueberry bush. Dirt and blackberry juice smeared over her face, her shirt. Though dirty, her new hiding spot was cool, and gave the girl a sense of safety. And, once she was tucked safe in the cool dirt, protected from the sun by the leaves of the bush, the girl decided the nectarine was the next victim of her hunger.

Two bites into the fruit, the crunching of leaves had her glancing up. Someone else was in the garden. Judging by the humming, it was a female – more than likely the witch. Kenzie gulped down the rest of the fruit, barely even attempting to chew as she scanned for the feet of the witch. She found them just a few yards away, a pair of black heels covered almost to the ankle by a soft purple dress. A shiver went down her spine as a soft snap echoed across the garden. Though she did not know what the sound was, she could feel something in the air change. The witch had done something, something unnatural – something magical. Part of her wanted to know what.

But instead of asking, Kenzie instead chose to stifle her breathing, covering her mouth with one hand. Her body curled up, slowly, in an effort to appear smaller, to go unnoticed. The last thing Kenzie needed was to be found and reported to the police. They would contact the House. They would make her go back. She didn’t want to go back to the House. She _wouldn’t_ go back.

The woman approached, and the girl inhaled a deep breath, holding it. Her feet stopped near the blackberry brush she had snacked at, then took half a step back. There was complete silence for a long moment. Nothing moved, not even the breeze among the leaves. But then the feet started towards her hiding spot. Kenzie raised her eyes up the purple form, until they found the face of the witch. She looked younger than the girl had pictured her, much more beautiful than the fairy tales had always described witches.

It was her red hair, however, that distracted Kenzie. One glance at the curls, and the girl started to move forwards, out of her hiding spot. The hair that framed the witch’s face sparked a memory in the child that had almost faded out of existence.

Her mother had red hair. Her mother was beautiful. Her mother was sometimes brash and cold. Maybe… Maybe this was…

The witch caught her movement and looked down. Blue eyes met soft brown, and, for a brief moment, stillness returned to Eden. Then Kenzie crawled forwards, one grubby hand reaching out, grabbing onto the edge of her dress. She whimpered, almost hopefully.

“Momma?”


End file.
